After starring in The Killer Inside Me, Casey Affleck made a documentary about Joaquin Phoenix. He talks fame, family and debauchery with James Mottram
There was an added surprise bonus for anyone who shelled out for the ultimate party of the season, the Serpentine Gallery Summer Party. Amid the champagne-swilling, the games of ping pong with championship players set up by the gallery, and the right to roam among a guest list that included Stella McCartney, Erin O'Connor, Peter Blake, Grace Jones, Rhys Ifans, Vivienne Westwood, Tracey Emin and the Chapman brothers, Dizzee Rascal turned up to perform a "surprise secret gig" under Jean Nouvel's newly erected, bright red pavilion. Dizzee's performance, which marked the gallery's 40th anniversary, was arranged by the manager and promoter Raye Cosbert. A lot of the exquisitely dressed European heiresses and billionaires were also seen having their heartbeats recorded in the French artist Christian Boltanski's interactive installation The Heart Archive.
I don't know when a mainstream film sparked off so much argument as The Killer Inside Me, the noir thriller by Michael Winterbottom. I've had so many heated conversations about it, my head is spinning. The film, as you must surely have read, features two scenes in which women (played by Jessica Alba and Kate Hudson) are viciously attacked out of the blue by the baby-faced, castrato-voiced, faux -charming cop, played by Casey Affleck, with whom they've become sexually involved. The violence is extremely graphic, relentless, shocking and hard to watch; but should we criticise Winterbottom for the extreme quality of his depiction? If he were depicting an earthquake, wouldn't we applaud him for making it as graphic and bone-rattling as he, and the sophisticated resources of a film studio, can make it? Isn't there a post-feminist case, that the more realistically you portray violence against women, the more you'll show complacent people how disgusting it is?
This well crafted, excessively violent story lacks irony – but largely stays true to the 'dime-store Dostoevsky' whose characters it reveals
Romance coach Matthew Hussey tutors women in the art of attracting – and keeping – a man. Can he teach Charlotte Philby anything about the opposite sex she doesn't already know?
A new exhibition in Paris sheds light on the risqué establishments where stars, men of letters and royalty mingled
Frank Miller's adaptation of Will Eisner's 1940s comic strip series is a stylised pulp fiction pastiche, much like Miller's previous film, Sin City.
Wii, Sega, £39.99
Mike Myers was once hailed as Hollywood's funniest man. As yet another of his movies is slammed by the critics, Guy Adams examines what went wrong
A younger generation of buyers is swapping Levi Strauss, Wrangler and Lee for lines by Victoria Beckham and P Diddy, writes Rachel Shields
Israel, the 'war on terror', small-town American values – after the huge success of Borat, everything is fair game for today's film satirists. Guy Adams reports from Los Angeles on a glut of political and social comedies coming out of the major studios
Behind today's blockbuster superheroes lies the genius of one man, legendary artist Jack Kirby. Tim Walker finds out what makes his work so special